


A house as a metaphor

by ZHIREM



Series: A moral spectrum [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZHIREM/pseuds/ZHIREM
Summary: Monsters rarely start as monsters, but every person, when pressed, eventually has to decide if they are willing to become one.





	

Steve had asked Clint to be friendly with James and Rumlow, and since Clint was one of the few Avengers who really didn't have an opinion on the Brock issue, he agreed. Clint had worked with Rumlow a few times in Shield, but never very closely. Clint didn't think he could say anything about working for the bad guys either, Clint had done things for Loki he never in a thousand years would have done if he hadn't been forced.

The sad thing was Clint got along with Rumlow better then James, creepy, still, silent James. James's facial expressions would just fall off his face sometimes when he thought the person he was talking to had left the room. Clint only ever saw that when he was in the vents, but Clint was often in the vents. James would be laughing, smiling, eyes alive, and voice expressive then...bam...face blank, eyes dead.

"Hey Rumlow, you notice anything different or odd about James recently? He seems a little...off. I mean, it seems...sometimes...that you're talking to a different person with every conversation and then the rest of the time James doesn't even seem to register what you say, or that you're even standing next to him", Clint asked as he flipped through several TV channels trying to appear casual.

Brock shrugged and said, "No, he's like he's always been," then took another drink of beer.

Clint continued to flip channels until he settled on a hockey game and asked, "Did you work with James while he was working for the Russians? I know Nat did. Were you ever his handler when he was stationed there?".

"I became his handler after Winter had already been sold to Hydra. We ran a few missions over in and near Russia but it didn't cause any real complications. Winter is good with compartmentalization, real good," Brock answered. 

Clint nodded his head and said, "Sometimes it's like he just turns off a part of himself, packs it up and tucks it away. How can he just do that, and so suddenly?".

"You really want my opinion? No one ever wants that. Well, I think it's a lot like havin this old house," Brock slurred. "you see Bucky had a basic frame for a house and over the years he put in some flower beds, maybe a hedge, possibly a porch. Gets it real nice over the years. Then all sudden...bam...hydra captures him in world war two and he gets a little experimented on," Brock pauses to finish his beer and open another.

"You've been watching that house show on cable again haven't you?" Clint asked while laughing.

"Shut up," Brock all but pouted as he continued. "No, see...Captain Oblivious rescues him but that house, the flowers are a little dead around the edges, the paint job is a little faded, one hedge has a straight up hole in it, windows are a little cracked, and the lock on the front door is all nicked up and jammed." 

Brock grabbed the remote from Clint and turned the TV to the cartoon network. "Now after being rescued and being helped by his great friend he decides to rip out the messed up hedge and put in a birdbath. He changes all the flowers and repaints the outside walls. The color is close, but it's not the same. That house is fine...and stable with a good foundation.Until the Soviets take him, then they do some serious renovation. Build a second story, expand the kitchen, just add a lot of room, not necessarily furnishings. Maybe a few all purpose items, like a camp bed, a stove, some pots and pans. Nothing unique though, nothing special. Over the years they add a garage, and some exercise equipment, but people are packrats, can't keep everything perfect. Some undesired things begin to creep in over the years and the soviets put in a basement so the overflow can be packed up and put away as needed, allows them to pull it back out if they have to, creating a chameleon of an agent. constant behavior modification, constant recalibrations, new orders, new situations, new skills needed...new furniture and household items cluttering the place up."

"Brock, you make me feel like I'm back in the circus, smoking some weed, about to eat a super large pizza. When was the last time you actually got out of this tower? Without James less then one step away from you?" Clint asked while laughing at the roadrunner on the TV.

Brock took another drink and continued speaking, "No, no, no, I'm serious here. Towards the end of his time with the soviets his basement if full to over flowing, he's got a fucking pool, and a god damn grill in the back yard. Then bam, once again the rug is pulled up and ripped out from under his feet. He's sold off to Hydra, and Hydras not content with shit cluttering up the house so they put up a shed near the pool, expand the garages and try for a yard sell".

Clint made a grab for the remote but missed and ended up grabbing the beer out of Brock's hand, Clint shrugged and then drank it while Brock cursed him out and got another beer for himself. 

Brock managed to stumble back to the couch and placed another six pack on the coffee table. 

"This is some real shit beer Barton. Really? Natty ice? What the fuck?" Brock asked before he popped a beer open and started to drink.

"Well, if you don't like it you don't have drink it, douchebag", Clint stated with a shrug, "Buy your own damn beer".

"With what? I don't get paid. I'm just the goddamn house Frau. I sit around and look pretty, or pretty fucked up, or, you know, pretty well fucked." Brock said while starting to laugh.

"Then you can shut up about my beer and like it. It is the beer of southern champions" clint said with a smirk. 

"So did you ever work with Ward? While you were doing Hydra shit?" Clint asked while crushing a beer can and tossing it into the trash. 

"Yeah, I know Ward, but the thing is, Hydra does things a little different," Brock stated while flexing his left hand and staring at his index finger. 

"You don't really know a lot of the people involved in your ops. You know your team, your past team. And half of your past team is dead. You know your superior, and a few support staff. When you're a field agent, you don't really know much of anything. You get used to that, not that Shield was big with the sharing and caring either. You get used to trusting faceless communications. I was under Winter and Pierce off and on for about twenty years. They were the only real constants. We were building a better world."

Barton snorted, "Under...under winter...weren't you his handler? Wasn't he under you?" Barton let out a small giggle. 

Brock opened another beer and took three gulps before answering, "Yeah, I handled Winter, but as I said, Hydra is a little different. Handling in this case isn't exactly handling as per Shield. It's not anywhere close."

"So, James has some kind of two story ranch. What do you have?", Clint asked.

Brock laughed and said, "I got a rusted, torn up double wide on the back forty with no electricity, but, I do have an outhouse. It's positively palatial. Seriously though, are you even from the south? You can't sit there drinking the beer of southern champions when you from Ohio or some shit."

Clint shrugged and said, "Well, aren't you from New York Rumlow? If I can't drink natty ice, you sure can't either."

Brock sneered and said, "But I don't buy it. Sure I don't turn down free shit but I don't buy it".

Clint shrugged and asked, "So what do you drink?"

"Gin or the champagne of beers asswipe," Brock replied

Clint sputtered as he questioned, "The champagne of beers, what the hell, is that a real thing?"

"The multitude of cases I drank of that piss beer makes it an unfortunate reality," Brock replied.

Clint shook his head as Rumlow started to giggle, "What are you laughing at?" Clint asked as he tossed a empty can at Rumlows head.

"I actually like the shit," Rumlow said and continued to giggle, "It's cheap and it doesn't taste too bad. Although I did drink Molson ice when I did a few ops in Canada. They are all pretty similar. Cheap piss beer." 

Brock and Clint continue to giggle to themselves as they watched cartoons until Clint froze mid laugh at hearing a foot-scuff behind him to the right. After turning quickly Clint was amazingly unsurprised to see James. Creepy, still, silent James, standing there staring at Rumlow. Clint hoped that James wouldn't be able to tell Clint wasn't as drunk as he was pretending.

James turned his head to Clint and stared at him a beat too long before a horribly fake smile grew on his face, not even trying to be somewhat believable. 

"Oh, I'm **glad** Brock is making _friends_. So very, very, very, _glad_. I worry about him here, all alone. **Who** is he spending _time_ with? What are they **talking** about? There are just too many hours when he doesn't have much to do, when people could be finding, **things**...to _do_ **to** him. I have been trying to get him working with me. Some of the contracts I take for the DOD and NSA might require two operatives. Hell, I've even got a gig for the world security council coming up in two weeks or so. I'm just so busy, it's like I **haven't** even _retired_ , not really. Thank you for spending _time_ with Brock," James said as he moved forward to put his hand on Rumlows shoulder.

Clint stared at James. As James continued to talk, he moved his metal hand up to firmly grasp the back of Rumlows neck, fingers flexing, _digging_ in. The whole while James's voice remained flat, maintaing the fake grin, eyes boring into Clint's. Clint is reminded of all the boogieman tales the Winter soldier inspired, tales that had been around for years before Clint was even in his teens. How the hell Steve couldn't see that his friend wasn't all that sane Clint didn't understand. It was a gaping blind spot that one of thier enemies was going to take advantage of one day.

Clint's eyes turned back to Brock when gasped, moaning started to fill the room. Rumlows eyelids were fluttering as James hand continued to flex around Rumlows throat, digging into Brock's neck before changing position into an almost strangling position. Clint cringed as Rumlow started to whimper, and flinched when he to looked down and see that Rumlow was getting a little too happy about James being back at base.

"Well, this has been _fun_...I think I'm going to **take** Brock home if you don't mind?" James said while smirking. "I don't think he's so drunk that he can't... _handle_ me." James stated after tossing Brock over his shoulder and smacking his ass. 

"It would be a very... _regrettable_...mistake if you ever thought Brock here wasn't _capable_ of, well, just about **anything** he wanted to be capable of."


End file.
